The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  A flash of light, distant, over near the sheer rock face to the right. It was like the sparkle of a small fireworks display, little red beads of light blooming slowly through the air. A figure crouched down in the sparks, too distant to make out other than as an outline. Its head tilted back and a fearful cry swept down the valley, echoing between the sheer rock walls, inhuman and piercing. It stood, waved its arms and hopped in some primitive dance. It seemed to shimmer, then vanished. A wave of hot air rushed through the grass as it reappeared a good deal closer, feet slamming down as though landing from a high drop.

  What had looked like a helmet in the distance Eric saw now were thick curved horns like a goat’s, curling from the side of its head down past its cheekbones. Its hair was a thick tangle of shaggy ropes, as was the beard hanging heavy from its face. It wore a stiff, ugly gown made from something’s skin woven into stiff square patches. Unnaturally long fingers clutched a thin notched staff with a diamond-shaped metal tip. Heat emanated from the creature, just perceptible from where Eric lay, some way behind it. Its feet were long claws like a bird’s, but made with human flesh, and scuffed and kicked at the ground, slicing up patches of grass.

  Its head swept left and right, though if it noticed the new shape in the grass clutching a briefcase, it gave no sign of it. In a very deep voice it muttered incomprehensible babble, then crouched down, not moving. Waiting. Seeming to listen for something.

  Eric swallowed, lay motionless, hardly dared draw breath. His hand slowly, slowly worked its way around the front of his briefcase, to the clips that opened it. The gun. I think it’s in there. Please, let it be in there …

  His hand found the latch buttons, but they’d make a sound if he pressed. What’s more, if the gun was there, they hadn’t kept it loaded — he’d need time for that, too. He wished the cursed apparition would leave, just go a little further away. But for a torturously long time it didn’t budge, other than the slow sweeping movements of its head side to side, and soon he hated it more than he feared it.

  Slowly, slowly, his other hand went to the briefcase’s second button. A hissing noise came from the thing’s throat. His blood froze; but it wasn’t watching him, its head was tilted up. Above where it crouched, a thin line of light was being drawn in the air, horizontal, then vertical, forming a rectangle. It stood, hands shaking around the wooden staff, knuckles white, it gripped so hard.

  Those lines of light — was that the inside of the door Eric had come through? Is that what the door looked like from this side? If so, it was off to the right, too far away, he’d have thought, to be the same door he’d fallen from …

  A face suddenly appeared in mid-air, inside the rectangle lines. A young Asian man — Korean? — poked his head through the gap, mouth open with wonder. Another door, Eric thought. There must be others all over the world. But on this side, they all open here …

  The hissing sound was loud in the thing’s throat now, rising with rage and threat. It stood, as again that horrible high-pitched scream shot out and echoed between the sheer valley walls. A call for help? A warning? The face in the door looked down, the young man too overcome with wonder to understand his danger. While the man-beast was distracted, Eric clicked open the briefcase.

  The thing turned its head at the sound and looked directly at him, its mouth hanging loose. Its eyes gleamed like a cat’s.

  Oh shit. Oh shit …

  It turned back to the open door and made chopping motions with its staff, body convulsing like it was about to be sick. Then there was a crack! Something flew through the air: it looked like a shooting wave of heat, the kind that shimmers on a hot road. A sickening fleshy thud. The man fell from the gap in the sky, half his face pressed in and broken. He thumped to the ground and didn’t move. The door in the sky swung shut and the outline of light began to fade back to empty space.

  There it is, Eric thought, numb and despairing. There’s the magic you wanted to see. There’s the magic you threw your life away for. Pretty, huh? Was it worth it?

  The thing crouched down, shoulders hunched over, sucking in deep breaths, its eyes closed. Little coils of white smoke trailed like ribbons from the tips of its horns, the ends of which were now black as charcoal, as though the spell it cast had burned them.

  ‘I guess I’m next,’ Eric said.

  It regarded him with eyes that seemed an animal’s. ‘You’re Shadow,’ it rasped.

  Eric heard: your shadow. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Your shadow,’ it repeated. Its voice was so deep it could have been a machine’s.

  Eric looked down at his shadow, trying to understand. It was cast just faintly in a few different directions on the grass, in the fashion of being under stadium lights. He said, ‘I don’t know what you mean. But I’m not here to hurt you or fight you. I just … fell in. Didn’t know it wasn’t allowed. I’ll go back. Gladly.’ His hand went to the briefcase and quickly clicked open its other clip.

  The creature cocked its head at his movements, raised a finger in warning. So ended his bid to get the gun. The little curls of smoke puffing skywards from its horns were thinning. ‘Your shadow,’ it said. It clutched at something in the air he couldn’t see, as if trying to grab a thread of hair. ‘Do you see? Lord’s thought a groping hand, winding and reaching this way, a tendril broken off the swirling mass. Do you not … feel it? It is unsure of its own designs. Conflicts with Master’s, perhaps stirs the pot of its own poison broth, but I shall not rebel.’ The creature bared its broken teeth as though in the grip of inner turmoil. ‘Two winds push here, I lean with the stronger. Depart now. Flee with haste, if flee you will. For his moods change.’

  Eric, dismayed at its cryptic speech, tried to sift through for meaning. Flee with haste was all he could comprehend. Unless he knew better … ‘Are you saying I’m free to go?’

  The creature waved a stiff hand around at the corpses and hissed like a snake. Eric took that for a very welcome yes. He grabbed his briefcase and ran, hardly daring to believe his luck.

  Over his shoulder, he was sickened to see the creature stamping on the newly dead man, tearing up the corpse with its clawed feet. It crouched low to the ground, head down, and came up with blood on its chin. Eric had read horror novels and seen horror films in which all manner of gruesome death was served up as titillation. Yet now he froze. He literally felt a stiffening coldness spread through him and lock up his limbs as the creature’s yellow eyes met his, for, even from a distance, he saw it was eating the body.

  The tower. Eric sprinted for it as fast as he could, glanced over his shoulder once to see if the thing pursued. Not yet, but now it got slowly to its feet. It threw back its head and another high-pitched scream rent the air. From far away, there came either an echo or an answering cry.

  ‘In here,’ a coarse voice called. Below him, a face! A small gap in the grassy turf. A hand reaching out. Right away he knew that face. It was the invader who’d come through the door first that night. Eric threw himself flat, crawled head-first towards the man. Rough hands closed on his arms and pulled him into a darker space. His legs gave from under him and he sank gladly to the ground, sucking dusty air.

  8

  The Otherworlder caught his breath in gasping heaves. Encasing him were the smooth, cool walls of a dark cavern. Sharfy marvelled at the young man’s luck on several counts, not least because he’d run just past the mouth of this groundman hole. Sharfy’s charity would not have stretched as far as going aboveground to wave him over if he’d sprinted off at a different angle. Even from a distance he’d recognised the young man from their brief excursion through the entry point.

  Anfen and the others would be intrigued to have an Otherworlder brought back alive … what was the word Loup had used for them? Pilgrims. Whatever that meant. Them mages and their secrets and lore they didn’t share, just cos they didn’t think you’d understand it.

  On tiptoe Sharfy observed the war mage, whose cries and rasps still echoed off the valley walls. How lucky
of the young man to get past it. Suspiciously lucky. ‘Do you even know what that was?’ Sharfy asked him.

  The young man shook his head.

  ‘War mage,’ said Sharfy, smiling. His smile was not pretty, he knew — he had a face full of scars and old pocks, a head like a bruised and dented apple. It invited people to recoil from him, to distrust him. No matter. If the young man was around long enough, he’d find Sharfy kept his word when he gave it. ‘Don’t have war mages in Otherworld, do you? No spells, you said. It should’ve killed you. Like it killed everything else that come through. Even a bird that flew in, it killed. It speak to you? They speak strange.’

  The young man swallowed, still a little shaken. He was no warrior, that was certain. Too young for a magician, surely. ‘It spoke,’ he said. ‘I didn’t understand, but it told me to run.’

  Sure, sure it did. He thinks I’ll believe that, eh? Fine, I’ll act like I do. But something happened, all right … ‘Stay there for now, get your breath. But no noise. There’s stuff in these tunnels we don’t want to hear us. Got it?’

  ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, thank your dumb luck,’ said Sharfy. But he could not keep up the pretence. ‘Come on, how’d you get past it? You carrying a charm?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sure about that? I won’t steal it. You can tell me. I’m ugly but I keep my word.’

  ‘No charm. We don’t have spells, don’t have charms.’

  Sharfy scoffed. ‘What do you have?’

  ‘Newsagencies and dumb luck, I guess.’ Eyeing off possible escape, the young man peered down where the tunnel curved off to the left, narrow at first but wider at the end. It was thinly lit by little glowing lightstones embedded in the walls, gleaming like pretty eyes. Then he jumped in alarm as an answering shriek to the war mage’s call came from off towards the castle.

  ‘Damn it,’ Sharfy muttered, looking back through the tunnel’s mouth. ‘I’m not gonna get it now.’

  ‘Get it?’ The Otherworlder laughed grimly. ‘Were you going to attack that thing?’

  ‘Sure. It’s about to cook itself. It casts a couple more spells, it’ll almost melt. They don’t get like this, mostly. One or two spells and the fight’s over. But it’s been busy out there. Most of the killing, it’s had to do in the last hour. That’s why it kept calling for a friend to come help it. Hear that sound? Knows it’s in trouble. Great time to go out and cut its throat, while it’s stumbling around, blind with heat.’ Or let it cook itself, which it would do without a thought for its own life. Then go and take the staff from its harmless corpse. They were worth a fortune. Could cut off its horns too, sell them for a few scales each, or more. But the answering cry sounded again, closer …

  The young man bent over and retched. Nothing came out but a string of saliva and some unpleasant noise. ‘What’s the matter?’ said Sharfy.

  ‘It was eating one of the bodies.’

  ‘Eh! So?’

  ‘So excuse me for mentioning it. Maybe it’s what you guys do here instead of go get a hamburger, but I don’t see that sort of thing very often.’

  ‘Keep your voice down. If you think that’s bad, things I seen would turn your hair white. They’ll eat anything. Helps em cool off inside. Twigs, grass, seen em eat rocks.’ The twigs and grass part was true enough; it was theoretically possible that a war mage might eat rocks, which to Sharfy was just as good as being true. ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘Don’t think about it.’

  Some time passed in silence as Sharfy watched outside, though his ears were carefully tuned behind him for sudden movements (if the skinny young man thought he’d get the jump on Sharfy, he was making a big mistake). No more people fell through the gaps between worlds. And those two Invia up on the rock wall hadn’t moved once. The newly arrived war mage came and sat beside the first. They seemed to hold a conversation made of clawing gestures and hopping dances.

  ‘Can I ask something?’ said the Otherworlder.

  ‘You don’t need permission to speak. I’m not your Lord.’

  ‘Why is it you speak my language?’

  Sharfy grinned. ‘Ha! I don’t. Something happens when you cross through. Loup told us it might happen but we didn’t believe him. Nor would you, if you knew him.’ Sharfy laughed very hard at this witticism and slapped his knee. ‘You’re still thinking in your own tongue, but speaking in ours. At least that’s what it sounds like to me. Some words you say don’t make sense, that’s all. Like hum burg uh.’

  ‘How does that work exactly?’

  Sharfy didn’t like questions he didn’t have a good answer to. ‘Something on the barrier between here and there, Loup says. Says there’s a reason for it, but wouldn’t say what. Dragon’s will.’ He waved the subject away irritably.

  ‘Can you still speak English?’

  This guy and his questions, jeez. Sharfy tapped his head. ‘All gone. Unless I go back.’ He scowled, thinking of the peculiar diamond-studded sky, and the howling metal demon rocking side to side as it careered past with living people in its belly. ‘Which I won’t. Didn’t like the place.’

  ‘You didn’t see much of it. Try the seafood, next time.’

  ‘Eh? No! Not going back. Why’d you come through anyway?’

  The Otherworlder laughed. ‘It’s either a very long story or a very short one. Not sure which.’ He was relaxed, off guard at last. Now was a good time to disarm him. Sharfy had his knife out quickly. The thin white smoke wafting from its enchantment felt cold. The young man backed against the wall but didn’t reach for a weapon. ‘Have to check,’ said Sharfy, ‘since I don’t know you yet. Weapons?’

  ‘No. I could’ve attacked you when your back was turned if that’s what I wanted.’

  ‘And your guts’d be spilled on the ground.’

  The young man emptied his pockets. Sharfy went through his confusing leather pouch with great care, taking out some small pieces of paper and some metal coins, which he examined for some time with growing excitement. What would some of those Engineers in Tanton or Elvury pay for these? Or those rich snobby collectors at the Bazaar? Voice casual, he said, ‘What city these from?’

  ‘No city you’ve heard of.’

  ‘Aw c’mon, just tell me.’

  ‘Gotham City. Those are genuine Gotham City coins. Keep it all. It’s not worth much.’

  ‘Not to you.’ He handed back the soft leather pouch, pocketing the coins and glad the young man’s gift had spared him a moral dilemma: to rob or not to rob? It would’ve been a tough one. ‘What about that box?’ he said, pointing at the square leather case.

  ‘Just a briefcase. Here.’ The young man clicked it open. Sharfy excitedly rifled through it, grabbing out sheets of paper. ‘That’s my résumé. That’s my bus schedule. Enjoy them. Rare and precious things, they are.’

  Sharfy nodded agreement. ‘Good for trade or for paying tolls. Groundmen love the strange writing. Those paper blocks we took, all blank. Quality, though. Would sell decent if we got it to a city, but Anfen said too much bag room to carry.’

  ‘I could write on the printing paper, if that’s valuable to you.’

  ‘Too late, we used it for fire. What else you got here? What’s this?’ He held a cold metal object, encased in what almost seemed a small leather scabbard with shoulder straps. He’d seen one of these when they’d gone through the entry point.

  The Otherworlder hesitated. ‘It’s nothing. All these boxes have them.’

  ‘I knew that. But what’s it do? Weapon?’

  ‘I’ll show you …’ The young man held a hand out for it.

  Watchful, Sharfy gave it back, with faith enough in his enchanted knives and the speed in his arm, if it came to that.

  ‘It makes light,’ said the young man. ‘But this one’s broken. It’s a cheap one. See?’ He pulled the trigger: click, click. ‘Light’s supposed to come out of this end. Must have been the fall that broke it.’

  ‘Won’t matter,’ said Sharfy, mollified. ‘I know these tunnels.
Better than anyone.’

  ‘Still, maybe I can find someone to fix it. Do you want to keep it, or should I?’

  ‘Not much room in my pockets,’ Sharfy grunted. ‘You take it. And these?’ Sharfy held up two smooth black objects that felt cool in his hand.

  ‘Those are computer parts, called clips …’

  ‘What’s a … com pu hor?’

  ‘It’s … well, a device for computing, I guess. Working out numbers, that sort of thing. Kind of difficult to explain. Mind if I hang on to them?’ But Sharfy smelled something up … perhaps these were the Otherworlder’s weapons. He hadn’t got past that war mage from the goodness of its heart, after all …

  Sharfy pocketed the ‘clips’ and noted the Otherworlder’s jaw clench with frustration. ‘Your name?’

  ‘Eric.’

  ‘Sharfy. Not my name, but ’swhat they call me. Let’s get out of here. I’m not waiting for both those mages to cook. Enough death and killing. Turns my guts.’

  Eric groaned. ‘Shit! Case might come through there. I left him a message by the door.’

  ‘A friend? He might be all right. You got through.’

  ‘I can’t risk it. What can we do?’

  ‘We do nothing,’ Sharfy said. ‘I took enough risk with you down here. It probably saw where you went.’ This was a new and startling thought. ‘We have to move! Get up.’ The Otherworlder began to protest until the knife reappeared in his hand.

  9

  Some hours later, as Case dropped, he glimpsed that there were other people lying in the grass nearby, but that was all. It wasn’t until he’d landed on his backside and rolled a little way, stood up painfully and dusted off the black slacks Eric had loaned him, that it seemed strange to him so many people would be asleep out here in the open. The truth wasn’t long in coming.